Who Goes There?
by Aphotica K. Lector
Summary: Antarctica - the deadliest region on the planet. It's cold, unforgiving, mysterious and uncharted. But now, in the wake of a massive snowstorm, the United States government and United Nations have lost contact with a top secret outpost. With little information, no time and the threat of Slade, it's up to the Titans to stop something not entirely from this world.
1. Winter, Antarctica 2013

Author's Note (02/21/2013): Below is the nearly complete prologue of something I hold very close to my heart. Within the next couple days, the prologue will be slightly extended along with a deeper, more thorough preface. For now, enjoy.

* * *

_"It could have imitated a million life forms on a million planets..."_

_"One more thing. I think it rips through your clothes when it takes you over."_

**Winter, Antarctica 2013**

Antarctica. The coldest, darkest place on Earth. It was barren, frozen; the icy death shrouds of absolute isolation and absurd nothingness. Nothing but snow and ice. Here, the sun burns cold and the wind screams. On some days, the sun burns colder than others - on other days, there's not a sliver of light in the sky. Instead, it'd been consumed by the faint flickers of dying stars light years away. Antarctica. The deadliest region on planet Earth.

Slade was never wrong. At least, not until now. The first thing he saw, from the corner of his eye, was an onslaught of sparks. How could there be so many sparks in so few places? Perhaps, he mused, it was to contrast with the utter darkness of it all - the bare isolation. He laughed. He moaned. A bit of crying. Slade, as tough as the son of a bitch was, felt his life slipping away. Jinx was dead somewhere - hell, if she even was Jinx anymore. Soon, he'd be right there with her. _Can it think... will I be able to think or will I die - or is it like a prison of blood? _Slade hacked up a gob or two of thick, crimson tinged vomit, glancing over his body. What a mess.

Holes, deep and pulsing, all over his gut. His midriff was completely torn open. Why wasn't he dead yet? He should be dead. The only thing keeping him alive was... that thing. The creature from another world. The ultimate in terror. He knew bullets weren't going to do anything yet still, he pumped a few rounds off into the horrid wad of flesh. It screeched, sets of uncharted teeth and enzymes digging into his thigh. Echoes, whispers, or whatever they were, overwhelmed his conscience. Alright, he thought, time for me to let go. And this whole time, besides taking over the world and playing puppet master with Robin, the only thing Slade wanted to do was get in Jinx's tight little ass.

But that was over now.

How old was it, that relic they found in the ice? Perhaps it was a fossil, they thought. But no - buried for thousands of years, it finally woke up. It woke up, but not from whatever nightmare it was having. Whatever pissed it off continued to do so. Slade thought of the tentacles and teeth working Jinx's breasts and stomach. He thought of the flame chewing away at her flesh, her lower back and rear end. He thought of her head popping off, growing legs and scampering into a hanging vent shaft. He thought of the last few of his men. They were in... what room was it? The mess hall? ...Something wet. Some breaking sounds - that was probably his leg. A tongue of some sort writhing deep in the visceral bowls of his rib cage. _I've got a few moments left - I want to remember a bit more before it takes me. _Slade squinted, sorting deep into the recent memories. It could have been any one of them in that room. Just not him. Someone... shook... their clothes...

Blackness. Lots of blackness - more sparks. It amazed him how quickly the beast could transmute from form to form. The building blocks of biology, he grimaced. A sick, bloody sheen of sweat snaked down his face. He coughed, finally unable to catch his breath. "You're... not getting me, you bastard..."

Slade put .357 Magnum to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

There are some places in the world you don't go alone. Here, in the bitter cold of an unforgiving Antarctica, Andrews knew that better than anyone else. He'd been the superintendent for a while now, keeping Murdoch in check as the research and navigation progressed. Murdoch wasn't much of a research outpost compared to others – it was more of the 'airport', so to speak. Everyday, Andrews would don the radio and run through a routine set of checks with the nearby outpost and neighboring installations.

A few questions would be presented to each answering station, in which if the list was effectively answered, the outpost was marked off as operational and in good order. There hadn't been once that the stations didn't check back or reply. Not in all the years Andrews had worked there since late 1983. In fact, he transferred in to replace the original superintendent of the place. The team at Murdoch quickly adapted to Andrews' policies and practices; they tolerated him and overtime, learned to actually like him.

But now, in the present day, Outpost #34 wasn't answering. There wasn't even the hint of mechanical static – no, instead the kind of noise generated by ghosts, whispers and the churning madness of the snowstorm outside. Andrews, while sipping his coffee, reminded himself that he could check back in a few hours. If no response, it was time to go through a specific protocol (one that hadn't been updated in decades) for such situations. He pondered; it was probably a party or something for a "successful" point in their research. ...Whatever that meant, he scoffed. Scientific advancement or not, if you were part of the area here in the frozen wastelands, you responded. You let your peers know that everything is just swell and cozy.

You don't ignore them.

Another sip of the coffee – it was going to be a long few hours.

* * *

...Of which nothing came. Andrews was becoming particularly anxious. Why hadn't they reported back? It him like bricks, a whole shitload of them: Slade. The bastard had threatened to go off to the coldest regions of the planet for a while now, wanting to start some sort of massive chain reaction that'd doom the Earth. But Slade wasn't that stupid - no weapon could melt Antarctica. Then again, he'd probably try... Andrews stood, pacing over to his window. Outside, nothing but darkness and a howling, icy wind. His coffee was empty and his patience was wearing thin. He turned back to his phone.

It was time to notify someone.

With the utmost hesitation, Andrews wrapped his hand around the radio and dialed into the satellite. Within moments, a little tick and someone picked up on the other end.

"International Security."

Andrews sighed at the feminine voice, "Laura?"

"Scott. Hey, what are you doing calling?" she giggled.

He needed more coffee. Hell, he needed the whole damn machine to himself for the next couple hours. If someone was going to destroy the world, the blood would be on his hands. "Laura, get me on the line with someone in charge, please. It's relatively... serious."

"Sure. What's the occasion?" she was as cute and tempting as ever, the seductive little secretary.

It didn't stop Andrews' gut from churning seven ways to Sunday. He felt his hands trembling, "We've lost contact with Outpost #34."


	2. Prayers

Author's Note: This was originally part of the prologue, though I felt it covered too much of the main story. This probably won't be expanded. Let me know what you guys think or how to improve what's here. I'm not going to say this is a crossover, because there aren't enough aspects yet to make it a crossover. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

**Prayers**

_"I admire its purity. A survivor... unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality."_

Expensive alcohol is a frivolous investment. Now, a good, plastic flask of Russia's favorite pint for 4.99$ at the local gas mart was usually enough.

She'd taken up drinking recently. There, in her undies and bra, she sat in front of a dreary, flickering computer monitor. The AI was clever. A finger hovered over the "s" key, moving around an empty, highlighted square. Where would she place her knight? Nothing came to mind immediately. Another breath, another squint of the eyes and another swig of Vodka. Raven stretched backward, thinking. Somewhere on the damn board there was a special spot with her name on it. The AI had pulled punches since about 6pm, taunting her with barely legal moves. She lurched back forward, the light casting shadows around her cleavage and then nape of her neck.

Gulp.

Starfire, Robin, Beast Boy and Cyborg knew better than to interrupt her "meditation" as she called it. A while ago, when the crime dropped low enough, she stopped caring. It was to the point that training didn't matter. Instead, the Titans took a well deserved vacation; a perpetual summer. A vacation to end all vacations. The r-and-r consisted mostly of quiet drinking, sitting around and a lot of private things – nothing like the raves and parties they used to go to. No, they were getting older now. Last month, she turned twenty-two. The thought of age made her shudder.

Swig.

"Alright Monica," the name being her AI's, "try this on for size."

_Click. Beep._

Monica chimed in her digital voice, "Knight to D-4."

"Ha." the Vodka was almost gone now, a happy Raven shifting in her swivel chair.

"Checkmate." Monica responded.

She scowled, "Seriously?"

"Checkmate. Checkmate. Checkmate. The game is mine."

Raven opened the CD-Rom drive and began pouring the remainder of the Vodka, "Cheating bitch."

Sparks, flames and smoke licked the edge of her hand, the half-naked Raven popping open the spare laptop. At the very least, she could play some Nethack. It was significantly harder, but the game never tread on shady ground. She brought the device to her bed, laying it flat on the comforter. For a cheap little net-book, it'd worked wonders. While attempting college, she remembered buying it for a few hundred. Starfire demanded it instead but, being the budget friendly one as of late, it fell into Raven's hands.

The glare of the camera came to mind. She thought of it still being on, able to tell that there were people watching her rear end in the glow of a monochrome. Raven slowly spun around, flipping the camera off before unplugging the cheap plastic. The internet is a lovely place to meet adventurous people, learn from a vast library, find applications, new music, underground movies, controversial art and blogs or even talk to friends... but the webcam came for mostly for taboo purposes.

A finger ran through her hair, "Alright, I know there's some partly clean laundry around here."

* * *

"See, the thing is, I'm already seven ahead." Beast Boy flicked one of the handles over.

The games table shook as Cyborg did his best to avoid another goal, "I'm good at catching up."

Beast Boy laughed, "Yeah, you're real good at that. It's like your prestige."

"Remember, if I win, I get your games. And I mean all of them." The smirk littered Cyborg's face like the million grains of sand on a beach.

Beast Boy shrugged, grinning with another goal hammered in, "And I get your car for a week."

Besides Cyborg and Beast Boy, the other two had been in the main operations, playing as well.

Robin regretted buying that thing, let alone putting it in the main quarters. For a living room you'd think playing cards, especially with someone like Starfire, wouldn't be a task. But with two, flustered idiots playing a frat boy's game in the background, it made the art of Poker relatively difficult. To be short, Starfire was kicking his ass. The poor boy was nearly out of chips to bet with. What did he put up again? Oh, right, his fucking cycle. Was it worth it? Given that if Robin won, he'd be spending a night just him and Starfire, yes, yes it was worth it. Or maybe not. Star would probably get in a wreck with that thing.

"Oh, poor little Robin is down..." she leaned forward, teasing him as a pair of green eyes glanced over his chips, "only a few left. What's the worth of those things, Robin? Thirty?"

He nodded, glancing over the top of the table. Cards. Chips. Drinks, smokes. All the good stuff, including a sly little Starfire in front of him. This was a game of luck. What you did with your luck was the part that required skill. So far, Robin felt very, very challenged.

She giggled, leaning back, "I have almost ten times that!"

"Shut up."

She traced a finger under her chin, then down her neck and tummy, "And I bet you were really looking forward to staying the night, weren't you?"

"I'm still going to," he laid down a few cards, "what size did you say your bed was again?"

She shrugged, "Could probably fit your cycle on there."

Robin grinned, "Do you fold?"

"I don't fold."

A door creaked in the distance. Raven had somehow managed to find a clean black shirt, jacket and jeans. It wasn't long before they called her attention.

Starfire leaned to the side, noticing a buzzed Raven, "Hey, Rave, you ought to come over and check this loser."

Raven shrugged, "Trying to get in your pants again?"

"I will this time." Robin lifted his cards, showing off the few he added: a royal flush.

Starfire had gotten too cocky this time and underestimated him. To her defense, he'd lost the last ten rounds. Strip poker, truth or dare, etc – he'd lost them all. Raven grinned, tilting her flask in Robin's direction, "I think you just might this time."

Star's spirits instantly sunk. "What?"

Robin flipped over his cards, "Ah, damn. Shouldn't have gone all in, huh? Now, I also said I get to pick what you wear."

Their conversation trailed off, Raven focusing on the low hum of something approaching.

The lights – that's where it started first. They flickered sporadically, stopping Beast and Cyborg from their game. A slow, quaking rumble permeated the walls. It was large, whatever it was. As the sound drew closer, it was obviously a helicopter. Raven gripped her flask tight – all she wanted was to use the bathroom. Now, a nearby window called her attention as a black blob of shadow moved in the distance. She paced carefully. A helicopter was never a good sign, especially on a Monday of all days. She slid the blinds over; sure as hell, there it was. A black hawk – the new and big transport kind full of aerodynamic steel and titanium. From what she could make out, army assholes on the inside and some jerk in a fancier-than-thou suit.

Robin met behind her, trying to see outside as well. "The fuck is that going on out there?"

"Company." she said.

Robin raised a brow, "On a fucking Monday?"

"It's a chopper. It's moving fast. I guess it's important."

"What makes you say that?"

The tower shook, a bit of dust falling from the ceiling, "Because it just landed on our roof."

"Why?" Robin demanded.

Beast Boy scratched his head, "It has to be serious. They didn't tell us. Cyborg, you got anything on your communications, man?"

Cyborg shook his head, "White static. Noise. If that, BB."

Unsurprisingly, Starfire shook her head as well. No chatter on any of the airwaves.

Beast Boy shrugged, "Do we go up there and say hello?"

"Won't be necessary – they're getting out to greet us." Raven said.

* * *

The chopper didn't take long to settle down, nearly destroying their basketball court in the process. A piece of... something went flying. Inside the black hawk, a well groomed, tidied-the-hell-up man screamed at the pilot. It was General White. "Next time you screw up our guests property like that, I'll make sure it's you in the tail blades of this thing!" White shouted over the whir of the engine and the roaring wind, stepping outside.

White immediately lit one of the world's finest cigars.

So, this was the HQ. The Tower – the place he'd heard so many good things about. White stepped a few feet away from the chopper as it came to stop, the blades slowly losing speed and power. From a few thorough gazes around and what he gathered, General White wasn't impressed. It looked like a recess yard with all the shit strewn about it. The sun beat down on his neck, reminding him why he hated being on the tops of buildings like this.

"I hate choppers," the General said, puffing away on his cigar.

Behind him, Special Forces Armond shouldered a bag, trying to yell over the chopper, "Fucking thing's still hot – I hate these new choppers, boss."

"You and me both."

Armond turned, covering his face from the sparing dust devils of debris, "Where the hell are they?"

"Give it a few seconds." White said, transfixed on his watch.

Armond waited, "You're too damn confident sometimes, boss."

On the roof, a door burst open with a furious Robin screaming at the top of his lungs. Closely behind him, the others. White laughed heartily, "I think we pissed them off."

"No, just you, sir." Armond said, pacing behind him.

Armond had known White for a while. The man had specifically picked him for the spec ops, something Armond was proud of. While White kept a cool, almost arrogant demeanor, he was the last person you wanted to dick with. More times than not, he'd seen superior officers taken a few notches down with the fury of White's words and anger.

A few more marines stepped from the chopper. Armond waved down the pilot, "Lift off and circle back – it's going to be a while. Secure the area, right?"

The pilot nodded, shaking his head as White was met with the Teen Titans.

The earpiece chirped in Armond's ear, "You know, one day you'll land on someone's roof you don't want to, Arthouse."

"It's Armond, prick. Circle back." Armond clicked off.

White stood proudly, puffing away on his cigar. Robin was the first to complain, "What the fuck are you doing on a Monday evening?"

White tipped his hat, "General White. Where's your rec room, son?"

Robin spat, face bright red and veins pulsing, "I asked you a fucking question – you don't land on your tower like that – you're supposed to call us, supposed to notify! What if you were an enemy, huh? And get the fucking prick with the bags of ammo off my fucking roof!" he finished, pointing Armond.

The two continued to argue for a few minutes, Armond watching as the other Titans simply stared. He lifted a hand, trying to catch Starfire's attention, "Redhead."

Nothing. They were probably ignoring him.

Armond shouldered his bag again, the barrel of an MP5 conspicuously poking from its leather depths, "Hey," he waved, shouting now, "redhead! Hey, tease!"

"Starfire." she snapped, shouting back as a few man ran passed her, lining the rooftops.

The others shared her same look of displeasure.

A stern expression ran across his face, followed by a grin, "Rec room. Where's your rec room?"


	3. Asphyxia

Author's Note: This, believe it or not, was actually designed to be twice as long. At nearly 4,000 words, I had to split the chapter in half. And for those of you who don't like the "slow burn", you may want to take a back seat. The next several chapters lack action, though present a lot of story and mystery. Apologies for the late update.

* * *

**Asphyxia**

_"I don't know how. 'Cause it's different then us, see? 'Cause it's from outer space. What do you want from me? Ask him! "_

His side was killing him. Christ, it hurt. He couldn't tell you exactly how a chunk of metal had given him a one way ticket to bleed-out paradise, but it had to have been somewhere in that room a few corridors back. Still, he had enough time to live for a couple more hours. Maybe in the dark of Outpost #34, he could find some stitches, something - _anything_ - to delay what was ultimately inevitable. At the very least, the grizzled son of a bitch could find morphine. Monte covered his mouth with a grimy, blood-stained arm, trying to keep his presence as silent as possible. _There be monsters in these waters, _he thought to himself.

Sparks and flashes – that was about all that was left of the station's electrical system. There were "sounds" here and there and whether there were human or not remained unseen. All Monte knew was that, whatever the fuck was roaming around in the dying outpost, he sure as hell didn't want it to find him wounded and defenseless. Save for the one Molotov cocktail in his hands. He had a few matches left; if something tried to consume him, they'd both burn to a miserable death. White gasoline (as his camp mates called it) was significantly more fearsome in its combustion than standard oil.

Monte was close to the infirmary. Just another corridor, one more turn... just a few more feet. Then, a familiar voice.

"Not me..." Slade, just around the corner.

Monte, with cuts and a dirt splattered face, peered quietly around the edge of the wall. Slade was having none of what that thing wanted from him. The once great villain put a bullet through his head, splattering bits of skull and brain all over the wall. The spider-legged beast at his feet ignored this – his body was still fresh and just alive enough for consumption. Monte turned back around, realizing that particular hallway was the only once accessible to the infirmary. Suddenly, Slade's solution didn't seem too irrational.

* * *

Gregor stood calmly though his nerves were totally shot. He expected death at any moment. Collins, however, appeared to have some sort of inhuman will to live. "Greg." Collins whispered.

Gregor hunched forward, his ear catching the tail end of Collin's whispers, "...stay in here."

Gregor shook his head, "No, fuck that. You've got the only fucking blowtorch – don't leave me alone in here, Collins!"

Collins and Gregor had evaded what probably killed everyone in the base – the thought of the scene made his blood curdle. Whose arms were those, flailing around and spurting the gallons of gore and organs all over the room? What happened to the other men – what happened to Slade, Jinx? Gregor assumed death... But that didn't matter. No, what mattered more than anything was that Collins wanted to leave Gregor in the dark with a fucking cigar lighter.

Collins was having none of Gregor's nonsense, "Look you son of a bitch, we may be the only ones left. I have to go out there and find a way out. Alright? Do you want to live? Just stay in here to yourself, keep quiet and it won't find you if it's still even here."

A brief flashback to a crate full of explosives going off came to mind. "...Please... I have nothing to protect myself with."

"You can use that lighter as a grenade. Flint and butane - think about. Now look, I'll be right back so quit being a little bitch about it."

Gregor flipped off Collins, "Fuck you. You say the same thing when it's crawling down your throat and munching on your fucking tonsils."

"I'm going – stay." Collins responded, ignoring Gregor completely.

The ignition flame on his blowtorch sparked up, Collins slowly lurking to the door and pushing it open with maddening caution. In the corridor there wasn't much; no, just some broken lights, a few holes in the wall and some distant fires. Gregor watched as he disappeared around the door frame, his footsteps fading into the howl of the wind. With that, Gregor curled into a corner, running his fingers through his jet-black hair, counting every waking second.

* * *

It was a mess. Everything, absolutely everything was unabashedly ruined. Collins kept his blowtorch pointed forward, at some point shooting a small stream of fire to ward off anything that may be waiting around the corner. Gregor and he were occupying the infirmary's storage room. It seemed like the safest place – thick walls and a strong lock meant to protect from thieves and disease. It worked for the most part. They were in the cafeteria when it happened; Slade pulled everyone into the room along with Jinx to get a grip on what was going on. But Monte, the tough-as-nails, grizzled asshole had gone off on a shouting spree with Slade.

Collins tried to tell him. _'Look Monte, this guy is here holding us hostage. It's best you don't fucking yell at him or he'll kill us. Just do want he wants.'_

They had found something buried deep in the ice. The scientists, being their typical selves, had gone extracting samples. It was hush-hush, but something went wrong. A few people disappeared and someone even went to the lengths of hanging themselves. In fact, this was all brought up while Slade was gathering everyone in the room. He'd pointed a gun to senior engineer Windsor's head, threatening to kill him. At that point, Windsor suffered a heart attack. Windsor was old and frail – you couldn't blame the engineer for shitting himself when a mastermind terrorist is pointing a chrome .45 right between your eyes.

The difference between Monte and the rest of the crew was simple; he was friends with the biologist. He knew what Slade, Jinx and the henchmen knew. A mistake, but Slade had ordered the doors locked. Such a mistake. A medic tried to revive poor Windsor... and he... changed. It was fast and bloody. The bullets weren't doing shit other than setting off a chunk of high explosive.

Something fell in the distance. "Who the fuck is out there? State yourself, damn it." Collins quaked, holding his blowtorch to a shadowed corner.

Monte. "Put that fucking thing down or I'll kill both of us."

Collins shook his head, "I'm here to help."

Monte clutched his side, wheezing, "Where were you, Collins?"

Collins had a vague idea of why Monte was suspicious though he was more worried about the gash on his side. "Look, I swear, I didn't touch that shit. I wasn't scratched, bit, or anything. I'm me, I promise."

"Drop the gun."

Collins shook his head at which point Monte lit his cocktail. "Drop the fuck torch."

"You've got nothing Monte. It'll fry us both." Collins spat.

Something ripped the floor from beneath them. It was at this moment when Monte realized Slade's body was gone, his torso and head slowly rising from between the two men, parting them like a sea. "Get away from it!" Monte cried, stuck in a corner, pinned.

Collins tried his blowtorch, hoping to God the malfunction was temporary, "It's broke – the pressure, the pressure is off!"

"God damn it Collins, burn it!"

But it was useless; the blowtorch was somehow damaged. It was only good for lighting joints now, rendering Monte and Collins as good as dead. Slade's head split in half, several arms crawling out of it and reaching for the both of them. Where the fingers should have been, there were merely claws. What choice was there? No bullets, no flamethrower, a poorly maintained welder and a cocktail – plus a pissed off mass of cells from somewhere far beyond Earth. Monte lit his cocktail, throwing it to the gaping maw of Slade's impostor.

* * *

Robin gathered that White was an absolute, no-holds-barred asswipe. This included the spook named Armond following him around. He'd almost lost breath yelling at the smug official, eventually giving up when a wad of "validation papers" were presented to him. It was beyond Robin as to why the state and government would allow their own people to waltz in, unexpected, and void the entire building's security systems. In fact, it dawned on all of them that the reason their sensors hadn't gone off was because of the intruders. At any point, the tower's defenses would have detected a black hawk attempting a "graceful" land on their roof – but they were disabled. Robin couldn't help but complain.

"You know what it means that you voided our security? Do you, White?"

"I don't follow."

"No shit – look, we're supposed to be taking time off anyway. When you perched on top our roof, it means our systems were victim to exploit – it means that you haven't kept us up to date on the threats out there and worse, you're using them to your advantage. Do you understand what that means?"

The General shrugged, "That we gave you technology we designed?"

Robin threw his arms up, "Great! Fantastic! So what else do you have that we don't? I guess we should just fucking quit, you know, given we're obsolete."

"You should calm down – they mean us no harm and they're from up top. It has to be serious, Robin." Starfire's hand rested on his shoulder, her eloquent words following him down the hallway to their living quarters.

_Fine,_ he thought. It doesn't matter anymore. Whatever these army grunts offer, they'll refuse – no questions asked. It was that simple. "You know what, I'm done. Show me the CIA vacuum you'd like to sell, build it up – but I'm not buying and nor are they. But please, entertain me by wasting our time." Robin stormed off, walking into the mouth of the living room and eventually to the couch.

He practically fell into it, crossing his arms and glaring up at Armond and White. Starfire knew it would probably be wise to sit next to him; when he got fussy, it was bad news for the entire team. "Scoot," she said, sliding her rear next to his.

The whole time, Raven, Beast Boy and Cyborg had been keeping relatively quiet. Raven found it amazing that someone who knew so little about someone else could even try to hope for a piece of ass. Armond had been diligently trying to get some sort of attention from Starfire, even going as far to pester Raven about it. The delight of telling the man to shut the hell up was wonderful. Cyborg and Beast Boy joined in at some points. That was the thing about the suited dicks though; they don't listen. Why should they? A paycheck to swoon even the most dry of women and the power to command armies. No, they weren't listening to anyone.

Raven drifted over to the other couch, settling down next to Beast Boy and Cyborg, who'd started playing conspiracy theorist. To her amazement, none of the other military men had followed them down – no, it was simply Armond and White. "May I smoke?" White asked, extracting a cigar.

"Why the fuck not." Cyborg, beneath his breath.

White chuckled, "Good, good. Nothing like some fine tobacco. I see you've all taken up adult activities..." as White paced, his fingers traced over their tables, their magazines – the cue ball and fabric of their pool table to the stains on their kitchen counter.

He lifted his head, motioning to Armond, "Armond, set up the projector please."

Cyborg dimmed the lights of the room, shutting the windows off from the rest of modern society. "Thank you, Cyborg. I was getting ready to ask." Armond grinned.

He shrugged, "What choice do I have."

White stood before them like a politician – Armond had finished setting up the projector and now and finally, they'd figure out what was going on. A small remote was handed off to White as he puffed away on his cigar, Armond suddenly growing cold and stern, pacing off to a shadow somewhere. "Are all the communications devices disabled?" White asked.

Beast Boy shrugged, "My stuff is off."

Star raised her brow, "Why? Our channels are encrypted."

"We don't even want our guys to hear this, Starfire. Is everything off?" White asked again.

Cyborg ran through some operations on his PDA, nodding.

"Good, then we can begin."

The projector burst with a fluid glow of light, casting a blank screen over the wall. White's thumb went through some sort of channel selector, a picture appearing on the monolith of light. "This," White lifted a smoking cigar to the screen, "is Antarctica."

Another slide. White lifted his cigar again, "This is Outpost #34."

Armond was dead silent, as if a statue. He kept his eyes on what seemed like nothing, though that's how it always appears when you're actually burying your eye sockets with information from _everything. _That's how these men are trained - to look oblivious but be the opposite.

"So?" Robin shrugged, still perturbed.

White flipped another slide, "Slade. You can see him right here, loading up something on a small ship on the coastline."

"That's old news." Beast Boy said.

White paused, his voice monotone, "This was taken several weeks ago. Slade is active."

"That can't be." Robin spat.

White flipped to another slide, "This is a graph of climate change. As you can see, it's getting worse. It's nothing we as a species can't handle," his voice and expression were grim, "but a sudden disaster is everything we can't handle."

Raven calmly lurched forward, folding her hands, "What is going on General."

"Approximately 24 hours ago, America's largest nuclear warhead was stolen – along with the parts to arm it. Hours after that, we lost contact with Outpost #34, save for a little message from Slade making it damn clear to meet his demands unless we want a worldwide flood that would rival Noah and The Ark."

"Fuck." Someone said it – and 'fuck' was right.

Not only was Slade presumed a non-issue, suddenly the entire world was up for blast for the first time in... god, none of them could remember. Anxiety was setting in, especially for Robin. The radiation, the fallout, the floods, the ice age... everything all at the click of a button. Slade was back with a vengeance and he's willing to do anything to get what he wanted; flicking a switch and watching the world drown on poison saltwater was all to easy. "...Is that it? You could have called us." Beast Boy was visibly irritated now.

White glanced to Armond, "Armond?"

Armond stepped forward, flicking his own remote, "This is a small, thirty-second video of a member of Outpost #34. This is not our only problem..." a flick of the switch and the video started.

Garbled, sure, but they got the message. An engineer - old and beaten down by the fists of a cruel life, spoke through the static. "We... found... this... together... we... and... found... a relic... virus... dwarfs Ebola, HIV... everyone dies..."

"They found something out there and we think we know what it is; simply put," Armond took a glance back at White, "they found a disease that will wipe the planet of all life. The dinosaurs, our ancestors, all wiped out by this - not a space rock. And the problem is Slade is going to use it no matter what."

"Why?"

The room went silent. White stepped forward, "Population control. The less people against him, the more he is in power. We have suspicion that the nuclear device is already armed with an extra payload of this stuff, which we believe is resistant to... everything."

* * *

Gregor was practically freezing. There was a fucking hole somewhere in the roof – hypothermia was kicking in. What was he going to do, just ice over? Or maybe that thing would get him, that monster from beyond. Gregor shivered, still waiting for Collins to return. His hope was vanquished like the last embers of a dying flame; just a corridor away, there was a scream and an explosion. Gregor knew it – Collins was dead and he was going to be too. But still, the frail, frozen Gregor paced forward, whispering for his comrade's name, "Collins? Collins, where are you man? Are you okay?"

Nothing.

"Collins...?"

A few footsteps. Gregor didn't care how Collins survived; he was ecstatic. He sped around the corner, ready to cuss the bastard out for pulling a stunt like that. But Gregor felt a sudden sink; no, he wasn't going to celebrate anything. Instead, he was going to express confusion. "Jinx?"

"Who's with you, Gregor?" she asked.

Gregor shook his head, "I thought you were dead – back there, in the room."

Jinx shook her head, "I broke my rib, one of them at least... you're by yourself?"

Gregor nodded, "Yeah," he gasped, laughing, "fuck, I thought you were Collins."

Jinx slowly crept toward Gregor, silent.

"Jinx?" Gregor backed through the open door of the infirmary storage, suddenly concerned.

Jinx wasn't talking. She seemed to lose any expression. She seemed... intent, focused. Precise. "You said you're alone?" she asked one final time.

"...Who are you?" Gregor fell back, watching as Jinx begin to tremble, convulsing. The mouth that had been on her face split down her chest, her breasts ripping open to two throats, a wave of tentacles coming for Gregor. Its appendages danced in the flicker of the light, a fluid of some kind secreting from its grip over his flesh – an enzyme. By now, it was nearly done; lips formed from the middle of her core, bleeding as Gregor felt his lungs collapse. As the first few slithering tentacles crept down his throat, melting into his chest, he watched Jinx split in half with endless rows of needle-point teeth and engulf him in one exacting swallow.

* * *

"Can't we take time to work on a cure -" Raven was cut off.

"No. No cure. This is the end of the world. All the water and climate would spread it around."

Robin shook his head, "Then why do it? It'll kill them too."

"No," Cyborg rubbed his forehead, "because it will spread everywhere but the coldest place of all. That's why they're there. They're safe."

"The virus has an extremely short lifespan. While there's no cure, Slade would have enough time to wait it out and come back once its gone." Armond added.

"So Slade wants to rule the world." Robin scoffed.

White, "I didn't want to say it, but I have to: whatever he's doing is designed to spread to more than just Earth."

"I don't understand," Starfire stood, "what are you trying to say?"

"Delivered by your's truly to every possible location of life it could be sent to. Everything within a reasonable amount of time and space living... well... wouldn't be anymore."

"Wipe it all out with a bug." Cyborg closed his PDA, turning the lights back on as Armond put away the projector, "Start from zero with more than everyone else so you control it all. He's gone bat-shit."

"So, we've come to you. And we came for certain reasons. Specifically, because of your history. Maybe you can manipulate Slade -"

"Ha!" Robin.

Armond had finished putting everything away, shouldering his leather bag, "It's the only shot we've got. You at least have a .01% chance more than me, or White, or anyone walking the street right now."

"Especially you, Robin." The General added.

The silence was palpable to the point of excruciating pain. The world – no, the known universe was resting on the whim of one madman and the only people who could stop him are the individuals he knows how to hurt the most. Starfire held her midriff, "I'm going to be sick."

White sat down, "I have cigarettes. Anyone wants a cigarette?"

Raven accepted one (given the situation), "What's the argument? We're here for this."

Robin nodded, "Right. It's our job."

"Agreed." Starfire shook her head, along with Beast Boy and Cyborg.

There was one more thing to be said.

White crossed his arms, glaring the team down.

And then he spoke. "I'm warning you all: there's a good chance you won't come back. You'll probably be exposed to the virus. You'll probably be killed or infected. You'll suffer a high grade fever, you'll bleed out of every God-given hole on your body and you'll vomit up your weight in fluid. Slade is done toying now. He's serious, which is why we are. I can't give you any hope for yourselves. I can only give you the thought, the inkling that it may be better for everyone else. We've already marked Earth as doomed – at least you can stop it from going else where. So, if any of you need to pray or make amends, it will be now. Because we're going to Hell – the most barren, emptiest place in all known inhabited worlds. The sun loses its color, the clouds choke the sky and the snow is as painful as the flesh freezing over your bones. So, Titans, count your sins. Tomorrow morning, we leave for a one way trip to Oblivion and you're _not_ going to come back."


	4. Gear Up

Author's Note: Luckily this is the last chapter that simply builds up the trip to Outpost 34. Thanks for all the views on this - I really appreciate it. I wrote it a long time ago and seeing such support is making me very happy and confident that this will be finished for the first time in ten years.

* * *

**Gear Up**

_"Fire's got the temperature's up all over the camp. Won't last long though."_

Armond shuffled his way into the chopper with little issue, leaning over the shoulder of the Reggie the pilot. He'd thrown his bag of weapons and instruments somewhere in the back of the cabin, leaving it to the arrival team at Penrose Station. A loose hand tapped Reggie on the shoulder, "We're leaving for Penrose. The Titans agreed. Get the rest of the brats in here, load it up."

Reggie, clad in his gear and helmet, looked back over his shoulder to Armond, "Do you want me to take you out for dinner too?"

Armond smiled, "I kicked your ass back at basic, I can do it again."

Reggie laughed heartily, flicking on the chopper's rotor and running some checks on the cockpit's dashboard, "Yeah, but I always could run faster than you, dick."

Armond grinned, tapping Reggie's fist with his own as he turned back to the cabin. He attached his communications unit, listening to Reg call the command to load up the chopper. One by one, they crawled in, filling up the armored area of the helicopter. In the front, where Armond and White sat, was considered first class in such a large transport. In fact, it'd be reserved for the Titans, too.

Though Armond had his doubts. Whatever they were dealing with Antarctica wasn't just a virus – in fact, he didn't even know if that was true. He was simply told by White to live by that explanation and describe to the Titans as ordered. The briefing went well besides Robin. The little prick had a mouth; Armond supposed that's why he was given the leadership role. Being an asshole helps you climb ranks in the modern chain of command. The blades were now close to their takeoff peak, White escorting Starfire, Robin, Beast Boy, Cyborg and Raven over to the copter. White was saying something, though Armond couldn't make out what.

"And that's why we needed you." White finished, motioning his hand the helicopter.

Robin shrugged, "We're all dead anyway from how you say it."

As the wind tossed his uniform folds, White leaned forward, "All aboard."

The team nodded. One by one, they filled the helicopter. White followed in last, watching as the Titans lined the "first class" chairs. Inside the dim, charcoal steel chopper, he could sense hesitation. Will seemed to overpower this. White smacked the side of the chopper a couple times, "Off!"

Reggie looked back, nodding. Within moments, the helicopter was off the tower's roof and far into the sky. Below, the headquarters grew smaller and less significant. It was a humble reminder to them that their were bigger things in the world and how precious life was – or some shit like that, Raven grumbled to herself. Robin gathered a curious discomfort; whether it had been Slade or some sort of deadly epidemic, the arrogant young man didn't look all too pleased. On Raven's left, Starfire, Beast Boy and Cyborg calmly sat, exchanging whispers and questions among themselves. It was then when White leaned forward, "Now, when we get there, I'll introduce you to the rest of the team coming with you."

"Redfield." Armond nearly laughed as he said it.

White nodded, "And some simple rules about the mission."

Outside, Raven saw the clouds – they were gray, like some sort of faded metal. Below, a vast expanse of uninhabited desert. _Striking._

"T-minus ten minutes!" Reggie hollered back over himself, returning a fixed gaze to the windshield.

"Is there any other info on this whole thing?" Robin inquired.

Armond nodded, "See, you can't be going all fucking crazy with your powers. I mean it. Also, you're going to be given uniforms – standard army shit."

"No powers?" Beast Boy seemed frantic.

"Right – well, mostly Starfire and Raven. Cyborg, none of that electrical bullshit."

"How the fuck are we supposed to handle Slade? And most importantly, why can't we use our powers?" Robin tilted his head, trying to hear Armond a little better.

"Because," he was practically yelling of the stir of the chopper's blades, "because the station is running on several reactive generators – one of those goes and it's a vapor cloud the size of Nebraska, right?"

"Not to mention it will set off the payload Slade has." White added.

Cyborg shook his head, "Why the hell would you put nuclear capabilities up there?"

"It's a special outpost. You know, black suits, spooks, shady operations – mainly, that's code for experimental agriculture. We had some tech, see," Armond waved down Reggie; they were close, "see, that could perhaps make Antarctica useful in restoring the climate."

"And most of the thing is under the ice. A small blast of Miss Star over here would cause too much damage to the infrastructure. So we have a collapse, which could set off the payload, and generators which could set off the payload. QED, don't set off the fucking payload, eh?" White nodded, the chopper swaying.

Reggie now, waving the others down, "We're here."

Raven had her eye on the ground the entire time. Below, Penrose – a massive installation full of the latest and greatest hardware science and the military had to offer. The parking lots were enough to cram a small portion of Jump City into their perimeter. The giant "H" drew close then finally, disappeared as the they landed. Somewhere in the back, the sound of boots clanging against the steel flooring came to pass. "Alright, the brats got off first," by now, the engine was dead, "so, team, if you'll follow me." White grinned, jumping out onto the ground.

Armond went first, "_Follow him._"

"Jesus, this place is huge!" Beast Boy shouted, covering his eyes from the sun.

"This is going to be enlightening." Raven landed softly, everyone else already out.

Almost immediately, Reggie powered up and lifted off, leaving them behind. It seemed rude to some extent. "Right, now that that's over with," Armond had somehow grabbed his bag again, "off to Penrose?"

White scoffed, "Gosh, Arty! It's just my only favorite station ever."

"You mock me." Armond simply stared.

White nodded, "Off to Penrose."

* * *

Starfire was behind Robin the whole time. She felt secure that way. Inside Penrose, gargantuan florescent lights plagued the ceiling. It was meant to serve as an indicator that people here were not meant to mingle or express themselves; no, this was a sort of institution for the great military machine. Raven had an uncertainty about this whole mess. The fact that the uppers of the government were involved alluded to _something_ serious; _something_ wasn't being said. Maybe there was a weapon involved, perhaps another government or worse: they were trying to cover up their own tracks and using the Titans to their advantage. Car accidents came to mind.

"And to the right is your room, team," White lifted his hand to the nearest door, "Cyborg."

Cyborg nodded, opening the door. The sheer amount of weapons, gear and ammunition along the room's walls was enough to supply Syria. Slowly, everyone shuffled in, eyes scanning the walls. Shotguns, pistols, machine guns, rifles, sub-machine guns, flamethrowers and RPGs – name the thing and it was there. By the time the team was in, Armond had shut the door. Off in the far corner, someone stood. It was a man in his early thirties, late twenties from what they could gather. He seemed to shoot Armond a familiar glance, the two greeting each other. "Titans, this is Redfield. He's a solider as well – though he doubles as a medic. No one knows your body parts like Mr. Redfield over here."

Redfield nodded, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, "Your body parts."

Starfire blushed. Beast Boy chimed in, "What do you double as Armond?"

"Engineer," he extracted a wrench from his pocket, waving it around as a demonstration.

Redfield paced the room, "You can sit on those benches," he pulled out his pistol, tapping it on his jaw, "you see, what you've got here are a lot of guns."

"A whole lot of fun."

Robin scoffed, "You'd think they'd never heard of us before."

Armond interrupted him, "And, you'll have to lose your outfits."

"Why?" Raven spoke for the first time in a long while.

Redfield tapped his chest, "Stay out in the cold long enough and your heart stops. Hypothermia kicks in and you'll turn to a flesh icicle in a matter of moments. See," he threw them all suits, jackets and pants from a nearby bench, "these suits protect against that. It doesn't make you invincible, but it'll give you more than a few minutes to find some warmth."

"Antarctica has been getting colder." Armond said.

The uniforms were rather bland; thick brown, leather jackets, thick insulated pants and a massive, fur smothered hoods. Pockets lined just about every facet of them. Beast Boy seemed a little irritated with the fur statement. "Relax. They're synthetic." Redfield ran his fingers through his hair.

"Anything else we should know?" Cyborg said, fitting into his jacket.

"No, not really. They already told you about the no powers thing, right?" Redfield asked.

Armond nodded, "We did. Also Titans," he crossed his arms, "you will take orders from us. You're under our jurisdiction. The benefit of this is well, good pay."

"Pay?" Starfire.

Redfield nodded, "We're not sure what it is, but it's something close to 800,000."

"Chump change." Armond laughed.

Cyborg laughed heartily, "Hell, I'll spend the night with Robin for that much."

Robin flicked his hand beneath his chin, "Fuck off."

"And Robin, no command hi-jinks." Redfield pointed a direct finger at him.

He groaned, "No shit."

"He means it. None of that alpha male bullshit." Armond added.

Beast Boy and Cyborg were taking their time going over the weapons. Beast Boy, of course, picked up the sub-machine gun, "How about this?"

Armond only nodded.

There was a loud cocking sound. "I'd like to keep this handy for close encounters," a wide grin painted Cyborg's face, the massive, ten-gauge shotgun in his glinting with the florescent light above.

* * *

Monte crawled slowly into the nearest room – a storage closet. A couple meters away, the burning body of what was once Slade. He assumed Collins was in there too, burning up before it had time to grab him. Monte couldn't remember clearly; he'd just known that a Molotov cocktail was thrown by his hand. What the fuck was Monte doing stumbling around in the dark? With the high amount of blood loss, it didn't matter. Monte was going to die anyway. But he was just aware enough to watch something stumble by. It looked liked Gregor... or Jinx – Monte couldn't tell, whatever it was.

Being silent was an art and Monte prided himself on such feats. Within moments, the monster was gone. Where had it come from? Judging from the angle, it looked like the infirmary... which meant it was probably empty now. Monte gathered what little bit of strength he had left, crouching in front of the cracked door. He peered out of it, seeing nothing. No point in saying hello, he thought, quietly moving to the infirmary. Just like everywhere in the outpost, the thing was destroyed. Broken tables, sparks and lots of dying fires. It hit him that perhaps there were still good areas of the base... though probably not.

But the storage room... it was open. Maybe he could just wait there a while... see what happened.

* * *

Another helicopter. Another landing pad. How many of these things did the world have? Beast Boy stopped behind White, Armond and Redfield – for the first time the rest of the Titans were behind him. He looked back; there they were, all suited up with their guns and ammo. And yet, there he was with the same exact thing. Out of everyone, he was the only member to pick the MP5. He glanced back at the helicopter, raising a brow. The thing was a bit smaller than the first one and looked like it came out of Blade Runner.

Raven watched as the blades kicked in for the chopper, "Looks odd."

Redfield looked back at her, "See, it's a special chopper for low pressure, extreme climates. It's called The Claw. Got it? The Claw. Not the maw," a sharp gaze was shot to Armond who only shrugged.

White slid open the side doors, "Alright, everybody in! We're going hot!"

Like little ants, they waded inside The Claw. _No kidding._ The vehicle was laden with so many intricate panels and displays it made Cyborg uncomfortable. It was time to step up his game on designing things, "Shit. How much money was put into this?"

"Don't ask about that missing trillion." White said, pacing up to the pilot in the cockpit.

He yelled something to the pilot before turning back to the team. Raven held her weapon close - it was the only thing that would protect her. Slade seemed more violent than ever before – more volatile. Something was off. Why would Slade destroy an entire population? He seemed more corrupt than most, but taking out the entire civilization of The Milky Way and planet Earth begged for answers. It was just... too grand. Robin spoke, "How long until we get there?"

"An hour, tops." Redfield shouted.

"That short of a length? It's miles away!" Starfire was perplexed.

"We told you, it's called The Claw." White added.

And with that, The Claw lifted off. Sensations of gravity fighting it were undeniable – it made Starfire nervous. She could tell the rest of the team was, too. Cyborg was more so disappointed than anyone else and Raven was simply being herself. Robin and Beast Boy were visibly upset. Anxiety had a way of doing that to you, messing with your nerves like that. She sighed, leaning her head against the M16 she picked out. It was recommended to her by Armond and, surprisingly, even Raven. She wondered who had the grenades (Robin probably). She didn't know how he'd hold up not being in charge.

Raven, on the other hand, was comfortable with Robin losing his ego for a little while. As fitting as it was, she still felt uncomfortable. Starfire not able to use her blasts? How would she function? That's all they knew – themselves. That probably wouldn't even come into use later. A hand tapped the interior of The Claw; it was Redfield, "It has windows." he said, flipping open the shutter of a small port window.

They were already over the ocean. Below, the water was starting to grow still, veils of ice forming. Clouds turned to a frigid haze and off in the distance, peaking at the vanishing point of the horizon, was a large slab of frozen wasteland known as Antarctica. It was utterly massive; the shear size of it dwarfed their entire state, let alone their surrounding neighbors. And there, off in the dead cold of it all, was Outpost 34 and somewhere in that outpost, a furious, maddened Slade.

"Are we going straight to 34?" Robin asked.

Redfield shook his head, "No, we need to get Andrews."

"Andrews?" Starfire scratched her head.

Redfield nodded, "He knows that place better than anyone. Also, he has to come because he reported this entire mess to begin with. He's quite the personable guy, I think you'll like him."

Armond grinned, "Yeah redhead, you're very personable yourself. The two of you will get along just fine, I'd come to think."

The man never gave up. "Yeah, I guess..." she trailed off.

White stood, "Alright, we're setting down in a few moments. We'll be picking up Andrews for a little ride – he's got the know-how of the outpost better than anyone here. See, they do remodeling and sometimes it doesn't get reported," White shifted his hooded, "so yeah. Stay in here. The door's going to be open for a few seconds so don't seem too shocked if your lungs have to adjust to the cold air. In fact, the heat will be off for the rest of the trip – you need to adjust."

The pilot turned back to White, "I'm setting her down!"

White nodded, "Alright ladies, have your _first taste_." he said, sliding the door open.

Outside was nothing but a white blur – snow, ice and wind killed vision with a few feet of their faces. The ground approached and finally they landed, White hopping off. He pointed back at them, "Be good, kids."

Redfield put on a ball-cap he'd hidden in is pocket then tipped it off to White. "Sir."

* * *

Andrews fucking hated standing in the cold and he'd only been out in the bitter terrain of Antarctica for two minutes. Behind him, McMurdow bustled with... no life. Everyone was asleep save for a few guards and radiomen. He heard The Claw set down a second ago followed by treading footsteps. A hearty laugh greeted him with the stern shake of White's grip, "Ah, Andrews!"

"Long time, no see, General!" Andrews chuckled.

White nodded, "We're ready for you. I brought you a little present," he nearly fell over pulling the pistol from his pocket for Andrews, "I heard you like chrome."

"Chrome .45. Those are getting too common," he said, accepting the gift, "did you get them?"

"The Titans are here. All of them and my guys, Redfield and Armond. The pilot, Reggie, won't stick around – he's heading back home as soon as we land."

"A drop off." Andrews traced the handle of his gun.

"Ready?"

Andrews nodded, "After you, Ted."

"There you go with my first name, Andrews." White patted him on the back, escorting him to The Claw.

* * *

Moments later, Andrews was in the cabin with the team.

"Titans," he bit his lip, trying to think of their names, "Beast Man, Sun Fire, The Crow, Terminator and Robin?"

"Fuck, you got one of them right." Cyborg shook his head.

White tapped the pilot on the back of his helmet, "Reg, go ahead!"

The motor whirred up again and soon, several hundred feet of free fall separated the team from Antarctica's harsh land. Andrews sat next to Cyborg, "It was Terminator, right?"

Cyborg only shook his head.

"Three minutes!" Reggie called.

Redfield adjusted his ball-cap, arms and hands against the interior walls, bracing himself for each turbulent shake of the storming sky. "Alright ladies, gear up. We're on an express elevator to hell – going down."


	5. Vicarious

Author's Note: Alright, as a heads up, this is the last chapter where "nothing happens", so to speak. I hope you all enjoy. PM me for suggestions or things you think can be improved. I'll gladly be waiting. Until then, enjoy the next chapter of "Who Goes There?".

* * *

**Vicarious**

_"I need to watch things die."_

The Claw had gathered its own whimsy; hovering about two feet off the icy ground, the team was ready to drop and explore. Inside, a strange howl overcame the sound of the whirring blades above. This was the wind outside, conjuring up images of nothingness and purgatory. Raven watched as Redfield and Armond stood in front of the door. White, on the other hand, was simply sitting next to Andrews, putting out the last couple puffs of his cigar. Andrews looked tense much like everyone else. It was then when White stood, almost stretching before returning to his rigid, statue-like stance. "Alright team," his hand patted Armond on the back, "let's move it out! Go, go, go, go! You're not getting paid by the hour, move it out!"

Armond went first, his feet sinking a good foot or two into the snow. Redfield was right behind him, the two gaining traction from their specifically crafted boots and gear. White watched as they nearly disappeared in the whiteout conditions. Andrews stood, "After you, White."

"Of course," White looked back over the Teen Titans, "that means you guys, too."

"Running low on fuel, boss!" Reggie called back.

White cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath and jumped out of the chopper. Andrews saluted the Titans in a sort of mocking way, following White. Reggie had taken it upon himself to call back to the team, "Alright, let's go!"

Robin only nodded, "You heard the man, let's roll! Titans, go!"

With that, each of them sorted out like a fine, singular line of elementary school kids. Robin held the door, watching Raven, Cyborg, Starfire and Beast Boy hop off the chopper and into the great white abyss. He looked back at Reggie, who winked at him before finally jumping off.

_Crunch. _The snow iced over, a thin crust of frozen mess plastering the entire terrain. Raven caught herself looking up into the night of Antarctica's sky, watching The Claw disappear. As it grew more distant, White lined up his minions for servitude. A gentle hand placed itself on her back, "Come on Rave, we're getting a quick set of orders. Line up." It was Starfire, timid as ever.

She nodded, doing as White commanded. They were already in formation, strong and formed in a line. White paced back and forth, shouting the screaming howl of the wind. Off in the distance, smoke and a faint orange glow. Was that Outpost #34? Or what was left of it? Neither of them had known besides maybe Andrews and White. The general spoke, fighting the shrieking madness of Antarctica's weather, "You will do as I say. You will follow orders. You are probably going to die. But in the meantime, this is my squad, my game plan. Armond and Redfield, you will go with Cyborg in the first line. I will be right behind you with Robin and Andrews. Beast Boy, Raven and Starfire?"

Beast Boy waved, "Here!"

"It's not an attendance call, son. You three will watch our backs. If there are any questions, germs and girls, say your shit now. Any prayers should have been done with. Now, anything?" silence answered White.

In response, White motioned to Armond, then gave the order. They were _moving_. And they were doing so with speed and tact. With each step, the glowing, ominous blob in the distance became clearer; there were shacks, entire buildings, arrays of dishes and vehicles – this was the outpost. It was obvious that there were an immense amount of scientific tools and such; half the outer region of the base was drenched in flickering lights and bizarre, neolithic structures. Moments passed – the cold was gnawing at them. Even with their special suits, it proved nearly fruitless against the excruciating pain of the chilling air. Alas, they were there. Thick, titanium walls surrounded the complex, keeping the American research crew safe inside. Whatever happened, Slade managed to get through without a hitch. Raven shouldered her weapon, stopping behind the rest of the group. There was a massive, cobalt steel door and beside it, a panel with a key code labeled "WEST LOCK".

Redfield ran up to it first, flipping it open and trying to short out the doors. Nothing. He tried again and yet, nothing. "Cyborg!" Redfield called.

Cyborg already knew what to do. With a few clicks and switches, the door was open. Technology should have been his middle name (though hacker was more fitting). "You hack like that at home, don't you?" White laughed as the entry doors slid open.

Cyborg only grinned, hunkering down by the door entrance and watching as Redfield and Armond went in first. He followed quickly behind. Team #2 followed them. Robin had issues with Cyborg being in the lead of things, but in truth, it was White. The formation just made it seem like that, he told himself. While they still weren't in the main complex, they were inside the courtyard of #34. The dim, orange glow was a fire; obvious, thick plumes of smoke choking out the already darkened sky. The inferno was somewhere toward the back of the complex – somewhere far away.

The place was huge. Almost as big as Penrose. You could get lost if you weren't careful. And that's what White had thought about as he watched the third team shuffle in.

"Redfield." White ordered.

Redfield closed the outer doors, pacing back up to his command. Armond was scanning the area with a set of digital binoculars. "Dead, sir." he said to White.

Andrews pulled out his map, running a gloved finger over their current location. He fought the wind with his voice as well, "Okay, it looks like we're at... lobby number three – I can't tell but it looks like that fire is coming from multiple places. Like the cafeteria or the infirmary. It would have to be a pretty hot fire, see," he pointed at the bottom of the map, "that entire are is mostly flame retardant. So an electrical short of a lost cigarette wouldn't do it, no, you'd need a torch or something. We should go there and put that out, first."

White nodded, "Alright men, listen up. We need to do a sweep for survivors."

Armond nodded, "What's the new team arrangement, sir?"

A small explosion sounded in the distance, "What about that fire?"

"Let it burn for now," White patted Robin on the shoulder, "get your team over by the entrance for the third lobby – it's over there by the snow mobiles. My team will go to the second lobby – the first lobby is inaccessible." White ordered.

Robin scoffed, "Why?"

Another small explosion, "That's why." White pointed.

Armond, "Sir, are we going to split 'em up like you said earlier?"

White shook his head, "No, we're going to a new formation. Let's see," he looked over the map again with Andrews, "Alright, Raven and Starfire as a pair. Armond, you're going with Robin and Cyborg. Beast Boy, Andrews and Redfield stick with me."

With that, the teams assembled. It was time to explore Outpost #34.

* * *

The third lobby doors were already somewhat open. It only took a few blasts of Starfire's beam to cut them a little more. Granted White specifically mentioned use of powers is prohibited, but they said that about the inside – not the outside. From the looks of it, the place was completely devoid of life. Inside the corridor was a mess of darkness and sputtering lights. Raven went in first, glancing about as she hid behind the left side of the door. Her M16 glimmered as the sparks above danced on their impact with the floor, Starfire coming in behind and using a flashlight mounted on her own weapon (another M16).

"Raven, what do we do?" she whispered.

Raven rubbed her chin, pointing down the corridor, "Any rooms on the side, we got to examine. We have to make sure of what's going on."

Her communicator flicked on. It was Robin. "Raven, Starfire."

She peered into the wrist communicator, "Yes, we're here."

"Good," some static now, "we got you on our map. I'm sending the map to your wrist communicator. Be wary. We'll all meet up in the cafeteria. My time is going to put out the fires. Let us know if you find anything special. Robin, out." the communicator hummed off, Raven returning her gaze to the corridor.

There were no doors in the immediate entry corridor. Nothing but metal and darkness. She looked above, seeing posters and signs hanging, indicating their location and direction. It only took her one glance at the map to know that they were ten minutes away from Robin and Beast Boy's team. Another spray of sparks rained from above. "The electrical systems in this place are fried."

Starfire shrugged, "Maybe Cyborg can fix it."

* * *

Armond smoked a cigarette as Cyborg played with the junction box. "The damn wiring in this thing is so messed up I'm surprised it hasn't exploded yet."

"Cautionary tale, Cyborg." Robin said beneath his breath.

Armond, Robin and Cyborg had found a junction box which seemed to control a lot of the station's power. Why it had been destroyed, no one knew. Most of all, Robin didn't see any signs of Slade either. Whatever happened, they'd missed the party. And to add to that, Armond and Robin were butting heads. The two egotistical bastards had a knack for trying to take charge of things.

"Hurry that up." Armond said as a few sparks flew from the junction box.

"I'm trying. Give a brother a moment." Cyborg growled, cursing at the wiring.

Robin ran his fingers through his hair, "You know, you're awful pushy for being beneath White. Maybe you can just can that attitude so we can get this done as shortened as possible."

Armond flicked his cigarette at Robin, the cherry exploding over his chest and finally snuffing itself out. "Look little birdie," he paced over to Robin, "while you're attending, you're not in charge of this mission. It's in the fine print."

"No contract, fuck face." Robin was pressed against Armond.

A loud crunch sounded, shaking the room. A few more mechanical bursts and something started humming. Above them, the lights turned back on and the door they'd been stuck at sprang to life. Cyborg dusted off his hands, "While you two were arguing, I rerouted the power. All systems are on, but that doesn't mean they work."

Robin shrugged, "So?"

"That fire," the water sprinklers above kicked in, "will be out in a few moments."

* * *

The lights kicked in. "Speak of the devil." Raven chuckled.

Starfire peered around the winding corridor, "Looks like we got three rooms on the right, one of the left. How do you want to do this, Rave?"

Raven shrugged, "Left one first."

Starfire readied her M16, pacing over to the right side of the door. "Storage," she tapped the muzzle of her gun against the sign on the door.

Raven took the other side, readying her assault rifle as well. "On one."

"Three." Starfire felt tension burning in her gut.

"Two." Raven positioned herself on the door's opening panel, her hand hovering over it.

"One!" Starfire exclaimed, Raven slamming the button down.

The door slid open without a problem, a cool, climate controlled gust of air brushing past them. As sterile and chemically tinged as the air was, it was a welcoming sign. Nothing smelled of rot and it didn't seem hot, implying something or someone inside. In fact, it looked pristine. Inside, there were a few large drums full of cereal, a few boxes full of plastic bags and some more general utensils scattered along some shelves. Raven and Starfire stepped into the room, eyeing everything closely. "This room is fine," Raven pointed her gun to the door across from it labeled 'recreation room'.

"That one?" Starfire stammered, seeing some signs of damage along the door.

"We got to check them all."

* * *

"When are you going to get that fucking door open, bot?" Armond said, keeping the aim of his weapon on the door.

"Probably when you shut the fuck up." Robin spat, his cross hairs focused on the door as well.

Armond simply shook his head. "How long?"

"Almost..." Cyborg played with the panel some more.

"Almost means an hour with you." Robin scoffed.

Cyborg flipped him off, returning to the panel, "Yes, almost... there!"

The door slid open, revealing a janitorial closet. At first, it seemed like nothing. They let their weapons drop, thinking it to be secure. No sooner did an ax-wielding madman take a shot at Robin, narrowly missing his face. Robin fell back into Cyborg, the two rolling onto the floor. Armond tried to shoot his rifle but missed, bracing against the wall. The man, wearing a jumpsuit labeled 'Collins', oozed with paranoia. He went straight for the fire ax again, this time Armond knocking him out with the butt of his M16.

"Fuck's sake! Nearly chopped my damn face!" Robin shouted.

Armond turned back to the room, spraying it down with a few rounds of ammo. His muzzle flair illuminated the area, looks of shock and confusion plastered over Cyborg and Robin's faces. Almost in response to his gun fire, Robin's communicator kicked in. It was White, "What the fuck is going on down there?"

"Some crazed asshole tried to chop us into bits," Robin said.

Armond spoke, "He's out and cold. Just making sure there's no one else in there with some fun surprises." he added, flicking his communicator open.

"Damn it Armond, don't fucking shoot. You have to be careful. Robin, anything on Slade?"

"Not a fucking thing, White." Robin wiped the sweat off his face.

"We're not seeing anything either," White sighed, "tell Cyborg thanks for the light, but we're still down on some electrical junctions over here."

"Can do." Robin flicked off his communicator.

Cyborg hunched over Collins's body, "He... looks like a pilot of some kind," he tugged at his shirt, trying to read the emblem stitched onto it, "yeah, he's a pilot. Man, that was close."

Collins jutted from his comatose state, tackling Cyborg. "Somebody get this guy off me!"

Robin and Armond pulled Collins away from Cyborg, trying their best to restrain him. He cried, screamed and kicked his feet like a toddler having a tantrum. "You're not taking me anywhere else. I know what's going on here! I'm not going to be one of those fucking things! Let me the fuck go! Let the fuck go!"

"Give me that morphine patch in your med pack, Armond!" Robin opened his hand, trying to restrain Collins the best he could.

"No, you're not fucking drugging me! Bastards!" Collins kicked and flailed, but it was no use.

"Night-night," Robin ripped open Collins' sleeve, jamming the patch on his shoulder.

Within moments, Collins was out cold, leaving them to figure out what to do with the unconscious survivor. "Well now what do we do?" Cyborg asked.

"I suppose drag his ass to the rendezvous point, wherever that is." Armond lit another cigarette, scratching his head.

"He was... wild. Spooked. I've never seen someone like that." Robin said, his gaze transfixed on Collins' still body.

* * *

The door to the recreation room didn't pose as a problem. While it did struggle to open initially, it still followed function. Raven paced in first, "Hello?"

Nothing.

Starfire came behind her, looking over the room. A pool table, some cards, a few televisions, a kitchen and a bar. It seemed like a decent place; the area where you went to "wind down". There had been a few fires inside, though. From the looks of it, whatever damaged the place was done with haste. Starfire stopped at the pool table, running her delicate fingers over the frayed edges of burnt felt. Raven checked beneath the chairs and cabinets, not finding anything particularly useful. Some burnt papers, which looked like lab readings, were scattered along the kitchen floor. They were too damaged to read, however.

"We missed what happened here, too." Starfire said, looking around the room.

"At least we have light now," Raven did find one paper that wasn't burnt, "check this out."

Starfire paced over to her, "What is it?"

"_Unit Report: 0315 hours. Specimen detained; hold for examination._" Raven finished.

Starfire shrugged, "Must be that virus Slade fancied."

"That's the problem," Raven said, "I see no sign of Slade. Nothing."

Starfire sighed, "Robin must be having fun. He was so hung up on Slade and here we are, looking for said criminal and he's nowhere to be found. Raven?"

"Yeah?"

Starfire looked away as if ashamed, "Do you think we're all going to die here?"

* * *

Beast Boy didn't understand why he was with White, Andrews and Redfield. It seemed contradictory. In fact, splitting up the Titans, especially Raven and Starfire into one pair, seemed ludicrous. White had known something no one else did or he was an idiot. Either way, Beast Boy was stuck listening to the buffoons go on and on about how valuable the research station was and what all was attached to the project. He simply shouldered his MP5, waiting for a command or something to do.

"Andrews, hand over that map," White asked.

Redfield, White and Andrews examined it closely, Beast Boy simple standing on the sidelines. Something in the distance rattled or... moved. "Guys."

"Shut the fuck up." Redfield spat.

"No, seriously, guys." Beast Boy felt ignored.

Instead of sticking around to be told to shut up, he moved forward a bit. The sound... was like footsteps. Drawing closer and closer. He flicked on his light, trying to cut through the darkness that the lights hadn't illuminated. Still... _nothing. _"Over here..." a soft voice.

Beast Boy turned the right corridor, finding a man huddled into one of the corners, rocking silently. "Don't shoot me... please help me..." he repeated.

"Survivor!" Beast Boy shouted, the team running over to him.

"Weapons down, men," White ordered, pacing up to the survivor.

"Gregor. He's got Gregor stitched to his shoulder emblem, boss." Redfield said.

Andrews gasped, "Gregor! What happened? Are you okay?"

"You two know each other?" Beast Boy asked.

Andrews nodded, "He used to work for McMurdow," Andrews hunched forward, "can you tell me where everyone else is? What happened?"

Gregor simply rocked back and forth, "It rips through your clothes."

"What does? What happened with Slade?" White demanded.

Gregor looked up, eyes wide and stared, "Slade." With that, he passed out, collapsing to the floor in a fetal position.

"Fuck." Redfield, beneath his breath.

"Get the damn communicator open." White ordered.

Beast Boy did as commanded. "Who do you want me to get?"

"All of them. Andrews, you still got the location of the kennel?"

Andrews nodded. "Right. Okay, Beast Boy, get on the fucking radio and have everyone meet here – we're locking these people up in the kennel. Lord knows if this one will try and pull what the last one did."


End file.
